“You’ll wear what I tell you to wear,” he cut her off, a thin edge of iron running through his voice. “This isn’t about you and your comfort zone. This is about the job I’m employing you to do.”
More irritation crackled inside her, but she dismissed it the way she’d dismissed her reflection. He was right. This wasn’t about her. This was about the job he’d employed her to do and one he was going to pay her very well for. Getting annoyed about the clothes she had to wear was personal and not at all professional.
Still, there were some aspects about this particular mission that he hadn’t briefed her on and that was definitely something she needed to remedy. Information was important to any protection job and she needed more.
“A job I’ve yet to be briefed properly on,” she reminded him. “I hope you were planning to do that before we leave?” She didn’t bother hiding the pointed tone of her question. If he could make snide remarks about her undergarments, she could do the same about his lack of planning.
Unexpectedly she caught a glimpse of something in his eyes, a hesitation almost. “All in good time,” he said, turning away. “Go try on the next dress. And ditch the bra.”
The next dress was on a clothes rack that Scott had wheeled over, a number of other dresses hanging there that all looked either frighteningly brief, tight, or otherwise impractical. But as Scott disappeared into her workroom again, Katya kept her mouth shut on her protests.
Mikhail depended on the success of her mission for Alex St. James, which made doing a good job of it imperative.
She tried to keep hold of that thought as she contorted herself into various different outfits, all of which were uncomfortable and constricted her in some way. They were all pretty much impossible to wear with a holster, and Kevlar was going to be out of the question.
As she shuffled out of the changing area for the tenth time, the gown this time floor-length, strapless, and made out of some kind of fabric that looked like liquid gold poured all over her, she said, “You’re going to have to get a few things made for me if I can’t wear my holster.”
Alex looked up from the rack of clothes he was leafing through. He didn’t say anything for a moment, staring at her intensely. Then he came toward her in that long, loping, dangerous prowl.
“What things?” He swept his gaze over her, blue eyes glittering. Like he was … hungry.
Disturbed, she turned to face the mirror, since no matter how uncomfortable she found her reflection, it was still better than looking at him with that hungry expression in his eyes. “I can’t wear my weapon if I’m in these dresses. I need an alternative to my holsters.”
He moved behind her, his footsteps muffled by the thick white carpet, standing much closer than she was comfortable with. In the mirror she could see him, nearly a head taller than she was, his gaze following the line of the gown over her hips, stomach, and thighs, all the way to the floor.
A tight, restless feeling turned over inside her, making her uneasy. She didn’t like these dresses, didn’t like the way they made her look. Made her feel. As if she wasn’t totally in command of herself anymore. As if she were someone else.
Katya focused on a point over her shoulder, away from him and the disturbing reflection in front of her.
“What kind of alternative?” His breath feathered the back of her neck and over her shoulders, left bare by the gown.
God, were those goose bumps? She didn’t look to check, because if they were she didn’t want to know.
“I’ll need purses with a weapons compartment. Makes drawing easier. Though for some of these dresses a thigh holster will work.”
“That can be arranged.” His straight dark brows twitched, his gaze switching from the dress to something at the back of her head. “Hmmm. This gown is perfect. But … hang on.…”
She didn’t know quite what he was doing until she felt his fingers in her hair. Her spine stiffened. “Sir?”
He didn’t respond, but she could feel him pulling gently on her braid and then warmth down her back as he completely unraveled it.
Her breath caught as he combed through her hair, spreading it out over her shoulders, and when the tips of his fingers brushed her bare skin a small sound nearly escaped her.
“Better,” he murmured. “Oh yes, much better. See? Look at yourself, sweetheart, and tell me what you think.”
Katya lifted her gaze to the mirror, but this time it was different. This time the past came rushing down on her like an avalanche, swallowing her whole.
There was a woman in the mirror. A woman in a golden gown that clung to every curve, with her hair spread out over pale shoulders, cheeks lightly tinged with color, green eyes flecked with gold like summer leaves turning in the autumn.
Mama—
Katya blinked. Hard. No, she didn’t look like her mother in the slightest. Anna Ivanova had been shorter, curvier. Prone to crying at the drop of a hat or laughing just as easily. Over-emotional. Vain.
Her mother going to the Bolshoi with Katya’s father. In a golden gown, her hair down, Katya had thought she looked like an angel from one of the beautiful icons in St. Basil’s Cathedral. Katya had clung to that gown, begging her not to go out, not to leave.
“I’ll never leave you, little cat,” her mother had murmured, catching her up in her arms. “Never in a million years.”
But she had left Katya. In the end, Anna had left everyone.
“Beautiful,” Alex said in Katya’s ear. “Don’t you agree?”
The images of the past wavered, insubstantial as smoke. Ridiculous to be remembering these things now. Anna Ivanova was seventeen years dead and her daughter was a soldier, not a clingy, desperate child.
Katya forced away the memories, studying herself with an objective eye. “I look the part.”
“You most certainly do.” His hands came to rest on her hips, a featherlight touch. “Though I’m afraid, darling, you’ll have to lose the underwear.”
She held herself motionless, aware of the way his fingertips were resting on her. As if the material of the dress weren’t even there and he was touching her bare skin.
“Why the underwear?” She kept her voice cold and flat.
“Shows through the dress, see?” Gently he ran the tip of one finger along the slight line that marked the waistband of her panties. “My lovers tend to be very conscious of that kind of thing.”
She met his gaze in the mirror. There was a challenge there. A dare. He was pushing her, wanting to shock her, no doubt. Because that’s what he did.
He was probably telling the truth about the underwear–his women did tend to be very fussy with their appearance–but if he was expecting her to blush and refuse he was going to be sadly disappointed.
She wasn’t one of his lovers. She was a special forces soldier from a highly specialized unit. She’d killed men before, and if she wanted to she could probably kill him.
She would not be unsettled by a few silly dresses and the touch of his hand.
Katya stepped away from him. With a certain brisk efficiency she reached up under the gown and pulled down the plain, black cotton panties she wore, stepping out of them and balling the cotton up in one hand. Then she smoothed the wrinkles out of the gold material and shot him a cool glance. “Better?”
His eyes had widened and she was very satisfied to see surprise lingering there. “Well, that was unexpected.” He raised a brow. “Are you sure you don’t want me to hold them for you while you check in the mirror?”
Of course. He had to keep pushing, didn’t he?
“No, thank you,” Katya said. “Are we done here, sir? I’d really prefer that we get on to that briefing session you mentioned. I need to draw up some security plans, and for that to happen I’ll also need more information about where we’re going and why.”
Alex didn’t reply, only giving her a long, measuring look, an odd smile playing around his beautifully shaped mouth.
That wasn’t the best move you could have made.
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No, perhaps it hadn’t been. Because she had the sense that she’d woken a sleeping tiger. And he was hungry.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “I think we’re done here.” Then he turned. “Scott? We’ll take the whole fucking lot.”
CHAPTER FIVE
As the car came to a stop, Katya was already leaning forward, her hand on the door handle, all ready to get out first.
“No,” Alex said flatly. “Remember who you are now.” And he could almost see the mental readjustment it took for her to sit back down in her seat.
Jesus Christ. They hadn’t even left the country and she was already forgetting who she was supposed to be.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her mouth a hard line. “It won’t happen again.”
Yes, it would. It was inevitable. He’d bet a million bucks on the fact that Katya hadn’t ever played this kind of part before, and it seemed obvious that she wasn’t going to slip into it easily.
Had he made the wrong decision in wanting her with him? Perhaps he should have gone alone after all.
Then again, Zac had been clear he shouldn’t turn up for the Apocalypse poker game without some kind of backup. Especially when Conrad would be expecting Tremain to turn up, not Alex. Though probably by now the guy would know Tremain was in the hospital and would have written him off the list of players.
Which was fine. That would give Alex a massive advantage in terms of the element of surprise, because nothing put opponents off more than shocking the hell out of them.
And he was going to need that advantage.
This game was going to fuck with his head in a big way simply because of who Conrad was, and if Alex wasn’t totally confident that was going to get to him. Normally he had no problem with out-psyching people. But this … This was different.
You’re afraid.
No. Fuck, no. He wasn’t afraid. The past was over and done with, and it couldn’t touch him now. He was going to arrive in Monaco with a beautiful woman on his arm, confident, powerful. In-fucking-vincible.
Alex glanced out of the window of the limo to where his Gulfstream stood waiting on the airport tarmac while the last of their luggage was loaded. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, sweetheart,” he muttered.
“I don’t,” Katya said in the same flat tone. “Neither do I make the same mistake twice.”
He looked at her and wanted to smile. Because she sounded exactly like her usual stoical Russian bodyguard self and yet the woman sitting opposite him now didn’t look even remotely like a bodyguard.
In one of Scott’s exquisite suits, she was tall, elegant, and although she’d never be conventionally beautiful, the potential he’d already glimpsed, had been fully realized now.
The skirt she wore was high waisted and slim fitting, ending just above her knee, outlining the swell of her hips and the long, lean length of her legs. The matching jacket was buttoned and belted, the plain white blouse she wore underneath setting off the soft green of the fabric. On her feet were a pair of sexy little black ankle boots, another purchase from Scott’s. Her hair he’d decided she could leave loose, since the color of it was beautiful and he liked it over her shoulders.
A stunning woman. A woman worthy of being on his arm.
It made something hungry come to life inside him.
He settled back in his seat and folded his arms. “That sounds suspiciously like a challenge. And you should know better than to offer challenges like that to gamblers like me.”
A crease deepened between her fair brows. “It’s not a challenge. Merely a statement of fact.”
Which naturally roused all his competitive instincts like blood in the water roused the appetite of a shark.
This time he did smile. “Would you care to place a small wager on that?”
“Excuse me?”
“A bet, Katya darling. You said you don’t make the same mistake twice. I bet you will.”
“This isn’t a game,” she said repressively. “It’s a matter of professional pride.”
“Ah, but life’s a game, isn’t it? So why not play?” He stared at her because it was easier to stare at her, to push her, than think of their destination, no matter how many silent pep talks he gave himself. “Let’s try this. If you make another slip, I claim a forfeit and whatever the forfeit is, you have to pay it.”
Her gaze narrowed as if he’d spoken in some kind of ancient language she couldn’t translate. “Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because it’s fun? Because it adds spice to a boring trip? Because I’m your fucking employer and you need to do as you’re told?”
As always, she didn’t rise to the bait. “I’m sorry, but this concerns my ability to do my job and I take it very seriously. It should not be reduced to a game of chance.”
“Jesus. You really know how to suck the fun out of everything.”
Katya glanced out the window at the jet. “Sir, if I’m not much mistaken, we’re going to be late taking off if we don’t start boarding.”
So she was going to ignore him, was she? Blow him off the way she always did?
Fuck that.
Excitement coiled tight inside him. The thrill of the hunt, of a challenge to be met. It had been a long time since he’d felt that spark, too damn long. Once it had been the game that did it, the cards in his hands, the roll of the dice, chance his plaything. Or booze, or drugs, or sex, or money. Yet those things inevitably palled, their pleasures brief.
This, though … This was different.
Because of her. Because she’s different.
Yeah, well, maybe she was. And messing with her crossed the line. But he’d never been one to give up a thrill for however long it lasted and he wasn’t about to start now.
Not with Conrad South only a few hours away.
“By all means, let us board.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “But as soon as we’re on that fucking plane, you’re going to make me that bet, Katya Ivanova. And if you don’t like it, you can stay here.”
Her eyes widened fractionally, but she didn’t say anything.
Alex smiled. “Now,” he continued in a more normal tone. “I’m going to get out of this car and then I’m going to offer you my hand. You’ll take it and walk with me to the jet. And you’re going to smile like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to you, are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Katya replied, expressionless.
“And that’s another thing. No ‘sir.’ Unless you’re naked and I’m holding a whip.”
Wretched woman didn’t even bat an eyelid. “I will call you ‘sir’ in private, as per our relationship as employee and employer. In public I will call you Alex.”
He didn’t know he’d been waiting to hear his name on her lips until she’d said it, her faint Russian accent making the long A sound incredibly sensual.
Dear God, he was going to have to be careful here. Otherwise she could turn out to be a toy he enjoyed playing with rather more than he should.
He got out of the car, the cold already beginning to bite, and turned, extending his hand to help Katya out. She hesitated only briefly, reaching for him. He closed his fingers around hers as she slid out of the car, gingerly maneuvering herself. Her skin was cool to the touch, gradually warming as she straightened. For some insane reason he didn’t want to let her go, so he didn’t, lacing his fingers through hers.
She resisted a second and then her hand relaxed. A smile turned her mouth. It was fairly wooden, but only he would know that.
“Excellent,” he murmured as they turned toward the plane. “Oscar worthy even.”
“Thank you,” she replied, still smiling that wooden smile.
What would a natural smile look like?
The idle thought crossed his mind and stuck there like a fishhook catching on a rock. Had he even seen Katya smile? Properly? No, he didn’t think he had. In fact, he’d never seen her angry either, or in any other way emo
tional.
You could make her emotional.
The thrill lurking deep inside him was electric as they boarded. Oh, that was bad, very bad. But shit, he’d never been a good boy, had he? And getting an unguarded emotional reaction out of his Russian bodyguard was a challenge he couldn’t refuse.
Katya was expressionless as the stewardess showed her to one of the seats and helped her stow the Prada purse that was the only hand luggage she’d bought with her. Yet Alex didn’t miss the way her gaze scanned the jet’s interior, measuring, assessing.
Goddamn bodyguard.
He sat down in the chair beside her, buckling up his seat belt, conscious that the unease he’d been feeling all day had gradually begun to ease now he was in the jet.
It was one of Alex’s favorite places to be in all the world, its interior the place he spent more time in than any of his personal apartments in the Nine Circles clubs–all saving the New York apartment. He liked the sense of freedom that came from being thousands of meters above the earth, unconnected to anything or anyone, untethered and soaring.
Sometimes he’d just sit in the luxurious white leather seat and stare out the window at the clouds passing below, not thinking of anything at all. It was the closest he’d ever gotten to true peace.
He reached over and put his hand over Katya’s where it rested on the arm of the seat.
She glanced at him, eyes narrowing, but didn’t pull away.
“Take my hand, darling,” he murmured. “And lean in while we take off. Pretend you’re scared and you like being close to me.”
A flash of what looked like irritation crossed her features; then it was gone and that wooden smile was back. “Certainly, s—I mean, Alex.” Her hand turned over, fingers curling around his, and she edged closer to him.
A thread of her scent caught him, and not the expensive perfume he’d ordered for her, the kind one of his lovers would normally wear, but the sharp, simple smell of oranges. Katya’s true scent.
And for some completely inexplicable reason, the tension in his gut that had been sitting there for the past two weeks eased even further. As if the smell of her and the warmth of her fingers around his made some kind of difference.
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